


They Keep Warm

by paradiamond



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fighting, M/M, Making Up, Robert POV, got some top Abraham and some top Robert here, post 4.05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 20:39:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11562930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: Following the party, Robert watches for Abraham outside his coffeehouse. Predictably, Abraham makes him wait, but not too long. They have much to discuss.





	They Keep Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Ecclesiastes 4:11 - Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone?

Much like the rest of the day to day reality of spy work, standing outside his establishment after dark is less exciting and far less romantic than it sounded at the time. The coolness of the air irritates him more than it pains him, brushing at his face with insistent fingers. Childish, like some men insist on being. 

Abraham had claimed to be unable to leave his quarters after the party, yet Robert stands outside the coffeehouse, arms crossed and growing increasingly incensed. 

Still, it isn’t long before he catches sight of that infernal red and green uniform coming quietly up the street, head bowed and eyes sharp. Robert holds himself frozen, not calling out or moving from his post, making Abraham come all the way back to him first. When he stops he leaves a polite distance between them, fitting for their surroundings and absolutely unacceptable. His eyes dart around the street, never stopping. 

“Robert,” Abraham greets him, smoothly, and apparently without a hint of guilt. 

Robert glares back. “I thought you couldn’t get away.”

Abraham bobs his head, still not quite meeting Robert’s eyes. “Guess I was motivated.” 

“Or given special treatment.” He lets his arms drop. “You were quite the topic of conversation at the party.”

“My father did cast a long shadow.” Abraham smiles, the expression so strained Robert wishes he wouldn’t. 

“Yes.” Robert lowers his eyes. “I am really am sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you,” Abraham manages after a long moment of silence, out of place between them.

“What happened?”

“You haven’t heard already? It was the talk of the event,” he says, flatly. 

“I’ve been busy tonight.”

“Doing what?” Abraham cocks his head. “You left as soon as we were done talking. Very normal behavior, by the way.” 

Robert presses his lips together, irritation warring with embarrassment. He hadn’t actually left the grounds for over an hour, standing amongst the trees in an odd effort to summon Abraham outside through force of will alone. Obviously, it hadn’t worked. Since then he’d done nothing much other than nearly knock an inkwell all over his accounts and pace the length of his room. 

Abraham sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, reddening it in the cold. “It was a prisoner exchange gone wrong. We were the Tories traded for Caleb, and there was an ambush.” 

He looks tired. Robert itches to knock his hand away, to replace it with his own, but he can’t. They’re on a public street, no matter how deserted. 

Robert risks a little less and pulls Abraham away by the upper arm, thin as a rail and hard as bone, spiriting them off to a forgotten corner of the city he’d come to know. At home, or after that detestable party, he could have taken them out to the trees, to the wide open spaces. Here, they have fewer options. 

The city is black with malice and watching eyes, with only a few lanterns to light the way, interspersed amongst the close pressed buildings. Robert eyes them suspiciously as they pass. Nighttime lighting in the city had required some adjustment. At the boarding house, there had been a single public lamp right across the street, and its light had peaked through the cracks in Roberts shutters, dimmer than the moon most nights, but twice as disturbing. 

It’s unnatural, an aberration that casts everything in its wake in shadow. A non-liveliness, changing the environment in the way that only people dare to. Almost, Robert thinks, an offense against God. But it’s one they make use of, just as Robert makes use of half truths and impure thoughts. He is the thief in the night now. 

Lucky for them, not even soldiers can see in the dark, and Robert knows all the shadowed places and patrols within a half mile radius of his shop. 

He pulls Abraham into a particularly dim corner, an alley tucked behind a school, empty in the night and far from the usual places criminals and those that hunt them generally think to look. Abraham watches him with a detached sort of curiosity as Robert deftly fishes a key from behind a crate and works the door to the school open, slipping inside to check for unlikely visitors before gesturing for him to follow. 

Robert leads them to the back office, a small window letting in the moonlight. They’re lucky it’s as full as it is, a blessing from above. More likely it is a coincidence, or simply Abraham choosing to be particularly trying on a surprisingly convenient day. 

Abraham looks around at the books and extra chairs stacked in the corner, squinting in the even lower light as Robert eases the door shut. “Why-” 

“The Society of Friends is frequently involved in charitable pursuits.” 

“Ah.” He glances around the room again, taking in the sparse decor. He looks almost impressed. “That’s a lot of trust.” 

“Yes, and we shouldn’t be disturbed here.” Robert settles himself against the desk, arms crossed again. “You asked me if I was satisfied.” 

“I take it that’s a ‘no’ then?”

Robert narrows his eyes. “I have sacrificed my safety and dignity for you and your plans. You do not get to walk away from me now, not after everything.”

“Like I said, plans change.”

“Perhaps, but promises are independent of change, and you made a promise to me.”

Abraham makes a face. “A promise I broke.”

“And then mended.”

“Is that how we left it?”

“It is how I regard it, whether you are with me or not,” Robert says, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

Abraham cracks, as he always does, and meets his eyes. “I’m always with you. I’m on your side.”

“Then let me be on yours.”

He lets out a careful breath. “What do you want from me, really?”

Robert keeps himself very still. “You know.”

“Maybe.”

“And you want to make me say it, as always, you just have to-”

Abraham lurches forward to kiss him, poorly, their lips not quite matched up. Robert fists a hand in his detestable uniform and hauls him closer, taking what he dearly wants, what is freely offered to him. He opens his mouth against Abraham’s closed one, demanding instead of inviting. 

Abraham bites lightly at his lower lip when he pulls away. It’s painfully familiar after treating each other like strangers all day. Robert doesn’t let him get far, keeping him boxed in between his legs and caught in the band of his arms. 

“Stay here tonight.” 

Abraham's eyebrows shoot up, clearly understanding that he doesn’t mean the school. “I shouldn’t.”

“Do so anyway,” Robert throws back, and tips his head back when Abraham moves in for another kiss. But he only smirks and lowers his mouth to the top of Robert’s neck, drawing his lips up to rest just behind his ear. Robert breathes out, hard. He wants to pull his tie off and brace his hands back on the desk. He puts a hand on Abraham's chest instead, not quite pushing. 

“Stay.” 

“Alright.” Abraham concedes, his fingers picking at Robert’s shirt. “I suppose it doesn’t matter much if they catch me out. They’re going to find an excuse to get rid of me no matter what with the Colonel so determined.” 

“Let them, this isn’t exactly your best thought out plan.” 

“You don’t even know what it is.” 

Robert narrows his eyes. “No? Your information on Arnold was good. Therefore, mission accomplished?”

Abraham avoids his eyes. Robert nods. “That’s what I thought. Besides, if it was just that, you might have simply asked.”

“Would you have answered?” 

Robert stares at him. “Do you not know?” 

Abraham lets out a long breath, color rising in his cheeks. “Yes.” 

“Good.” Robert looks away, the better to keep his mind clear. They’re in danger, always. “You are here for something else, obviously, something personal. Your father, most likely.” 

“Maybe I’m here for you.” 

“Stop it.” 

“I’d like to be,” Abraham insists. “Really. But you’re right. It’s Simcoe.” 

Robert freezes, now his automatic response to the mention of that particular threat. Fight or flight, as the saying goes, but not even war had turned Robert into a violent man, not the way it did Abraham. He takes in a careful breath and separates fact from emotion. Strength from weakness. 

“It should be possible, but you know better than to try that alone. What’s your plan for getting out?” 

“I’m a resourceful man, or don’t you know?” Abraham insinuates himself further into Robert’s space. “If I’d known this is the reaction I’d get, maybe I should have done this sooner.”

Robert rolls his eyes. “Enlisted? I hardly think-”

“Ignored you for one day,” Abraham cuts him off, smirking. 

“Be quiet.” Robert kisses him again. 

***

The first time, months before, Abraham gives Robert a massage in the quiet hours between first and second sleep, wrapped up together in the rare quiet of the boarding house. 

“This rather is obvious, even for you,” Robert drawls, though he doesn’t try to stop him. 

“Wasn’t aware that I was trying to be subtle,” Abraham answers, and presses a kiss between Robert’s shoulder blades. “It’s really not a seduction thing though, you looked about ready to snap.”

“If I did, it’s your fault,” he complains, but stays still, feeling the evidence in every breath he takes, one tension gradually replaced by another. 

Robert lets himself be physically manipulated into relaxing, settling into his body in a way he usually doesn’t. The low hum of arousal doesn’t help, making him hyper aware of his limbs, his muscles over his bones. The slow acceptance that Abraham would not seek to hurt him. 

They’d been together, in a way Robert was only just getting used to, for only a few weeks, and infrequently at that. When they first gave voice to the obvious, Abraham’s hand drifted down his back and lower, to hitch him closer by the rear. Arousal had burned through his veins, and anxiety turned over his stomach. 

Rather inconveniently, Abraham had noticed, and blithely insisted that not every sexual encounter between men had to involve buggery. He said many things in the same tone most men use for discussing the weather, such as the wisdom of receiving before giving, and the necessity of a gentle hand. Robert scoffed, but let him know he was soothed in other ways, through long touches and longer kisses, and exploration of this new spark. Lightning in a jar, under their skin. 

This night though, after Abraham went and almost got killed by crazed actors and Robert’s prideful wounds had healed over well enough to allow him back, they moved on, progressed one step further and then kept going. Robert urges him on, pushing forward despite Abraham's insistence that it was not a necessary component for him, either out of a mistaken respect for Robert’s feelings on the matter or out of a desire to force his inclinations into the light. 

Abraham makes a sound in the back of his throat as he works Robert’s tie open. “Christ, you must be sensitive.”

Robert hesitates, his hands plastered to Abraham's back, overriding his initial burst of insecurity. Abraham’s face is flushed, his breathing heavy. 

Robert steps even closer, into his space. “That interests you.”

Abraham laughs softly, running his hands along Robert’s sides, sliding then to his chest and catching on his nipples through the thin material of his shirt, making Robert shudder. “Yes, it interests me.”

“Well, too bad for you it will likely fade with time,” he says, which is mostly a guess. It’s as clever as he can be this distracted. The anticipation layered over the arousal consumes him, heightening his focus on one sensation at a time and dulling his awareness of anything else. 

Abraham just hums. “That’s true, but I’m confident I’ll find other things to love.”

The word burns Robert from the inside out, and he leans back up to catch Abraham’s mouth with his own, pulling away only to strip them both of their shirts. It’s clumsy, but earns him a soft smile. 

“You’re bolder than I thought you would be.”

“Waiting for the right moment is not the same as being afraid,” Robert responds, very quietly. 

Abraham hums, clearly distracted as well. “That’s true.” 

He tugs Robert forward by the rim of his trousers, bringing them into abrupt physical contact below the waist. Robert sucks in a sharp breath, frustrated pleasure vibrating up his spine, settling in his bones, making him heavy. Abraham doesn’t seem so much overcome as sharply curious and pleased with himself, making a show of pulling Robert’s ribbon from his hair and loosening his braid. 

“I’ve been wanting to mess up your hair since I met you.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Robert huffs. Then he pauses. “That long?”

Abraham meets his eyes, deadly serious. “Yes. Since the start.”

Robert has to look away, and choses to focus on removing the last of his clothing, feeling as though he might find something entirely surprising when he finally gets himself all the way undressed. He feels like a different person, a new man, when Abraham touches him. 

They move to the bed in near silence, Robert on his back with Abraham above him, staring down at him with open consideration in his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” 

“Hands and knees might be easiest.”

Robert makes a face, and Abraham laughs, leaning down to kiss him. “No? Alright.”

Abraham urges Robert to lay on his side, his leg bent at the knee to make the necessary space. He lays up against him, matching the line of his body. For a long moment that just stay together, skin to skin, moving only slightly to set off shivers, until other desires build, taking precedence. Robert can feel it not only in the hard line of his erection, but in the way they lean into each other, the way Abraham mouths at his neck. 

With only a little gathering of supplies and readjusting, Abraham sets about working him open, more careful with him than Robert had ever seen him with anything else. When he pushes his finger inside, Robert’s breath catches in the back of his throat. It should feel terrible, or at the very least, filthy. But for Robert it is only grippingly vulnerable. He is treasured, at least in that moment. One finger becomes two, pushing and stretching, altering him. It is not a physical pleasure yet, but he feels so much it might as well be. 

That soon changes when Abraham finds what he insists will be a wonderful spot inside him, and is immediately proved correct. Robert gasps and pushes back into him, onto his fingers, chasing the feeling. 

“Alright?” Abraham whispers at his back, stroking him again, small circles with his fingers. 

Robert only groans, softly, still cautious. 

He had touched himself before, of course. Anyone who claims otherwise is either lying or had never been thirteen, Robert had always thought to himself, derisive of those that would lie to make themselves seem more pure in the eyes of men. No one is pure, least of all himself. He knows what it is to fall over the edge, but being taken apart by another person is another thing entirely. Intimacy, he realizes. It is intensely intimate. Private but shared. Given away with open hands. 

It’s a gentle position, he realizes when Abraham slides inside, chosen for the ease. He doesn’t have to move or hold himself up, barely even has to think. Robert doesn’t have to do much of anything other than feel, and Abraham can’t get enough leverage to push him too far. It does hurt, but it’s more of a burn than a crack, nothing to stop him from seeking out what he wants. 

“Robert,” Abraham breathes into his ear, making him shake.

“Quiet.” 

It’s too much when Abraham talks to him, when he can see his face. Against the back of his neck, he feels Abraham smile. “Whatever you want.” 

Robert lets his eyes slip shut, and gives himself over to the feeling. 

***

He sneaks Abraham inside through the delivery entrance, the two of them creeping around in the dark like the criminals they are. Robert leads, weaving around tables and chairs he knows like the back of his hand. He could serve blindfolded if he had to, one more test to pass. 

Abraham sticks close to his back, almost touching, tantalizingly close the entire way. Robert can feel the heat come off him despite the chill of the night outside. It makes him dizzy, and angry. 

“We should stop pretending that we don’t know each other, it’s suspicious,” Robert mutters, deftly stepping around the pool table.

There is no response, and when Robert looks back, he sees a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face. Abraham steps closer, almost chest to back with Robert, and leans in. “Not as suspicious as you being seen with a known spy.” 

Robert stops dead. “Pardon?” It comes out as more of a hiss than a whisper. 

“Simcoe knows, at the very least.”

“The leader of the Queen’s Rangers,” Robert says, slowly, hoping that he’s misunderstanding the situation. 

Abraham avoids his eyes. Apparently not. 

“That-” Robert pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Not here?”

“No, and not now,” Robert answers, continuing on his way in what now seems to be a haze of dread and disbelief on top of the much more comfortable fury. It’s preferable to dwelling on fear, or wondering if Simcoe saw enough in him to become curious. One foot in front of the other. 

On the first step of the stars, they hear someone coming in the creak of the floorboards. In an instant, Robert pulls Abraham off the steps and into the small storage space under the stairs, pressing him up against the wall. They match each other in breathing and stillness, holding themselves like the soldiers neither of them really are. 

Robert keeps his eyes fixed on the slats between each stair, ready to move, to drop to the ground for all the good it would do. But it’s only Rivington, looking irritated and rather sleepless. The urge to roll his eyes is nearly unbearable, but Robert looks away, not wanting him to feel his eyes on his back. Instead, he watches him out of the corner of his eye, only tracking movement, and notices Abraham doing the same. Rivington moves about the space, puttering around and muttering to himself darkly. After about five minutes of restless fidgeting, he leaves the coffeehouse in his night coat. Apparently things aren’t going so well with the wife. 

His heart pounding in his chest, Robert breathes quietly, trying not to feel so much so fast. 

At his front, Abraham relaxes in stages, slumping down against him. They’re pressed together from shin to collarbone, faces slotted next to each other like books on a shelf. Abraham’s hands relax on his waist, holding loosely instead of digging in. Robert turns his head away to track Rivington through the window, making sure he’s really leaving, and Abraham presses a kiss to the exposed skin of his neck, right where he kissed him before. 

Robert jolts, heat pooling under his skin. The sense memory sets off a chain reaction in him he can’t stop, building in a wave with no end. He doesn’t move away, not even when Rivington walks out of view, apparently to stalk the streets of York city in an irritated huff in the middle of the night. Thoughts of the man fade away as Abraham drags his lips along the underside of Robert’s jaw, and Robert lets his head fall back, hitting nothing but air until Abraham catches him, his hand cradling the back of his neck. 

“Don’t leave a mark,” Robert mutters, feeling the leftover adrenaline hum through him, crystallizing into something altogether different. 

Abraham hums. “Not where anyone can see, you mean,” he mutters, very quietly, and slips a hand down in between them, cupping Robert’s growing erection. Robert jumps, and flattens himself against him, pinning him against the wall. 

“What are you doing?” 

“If you have to ask then I’m probably doing it wrong,” Abraham complains, his voice taking on a grating edge even at a whisper. “Ease up.”

Robert considers it. The urge to move against him is almost unbearable. He can imagine rocking against Abraham's clever hand, letting him undo Robert’s laces, ease his pants down, sink to the floor. He can also easily imagine doing the same thing in a bed, and without the fear of getting caught. 

“No, upstairs.”

Abraham sighs, but lets go. “Fine.” 

Robert presses his lips together, hard, annoyed to always have to be the reasonable one, the responsible one. “I am sorry that-”

“No, you’re right,” Abraham concedes, pressing forward in the ugly space between them to kiss the now harsh line of his mouth until he relaxes. “Let’s go.” 

***

Sex isn’t simple, anyone who says otherwise is either lying to their partner or to himself. 

Frequently, it is embarrassing, but grows less so with time and practice. It does not take long to find that if they want to take the time and effort to complete the act, it's much easier to get Robert relaxed after Abraham has already made him finish once. The boneless heap of him is physically pliant in a way a more wound up Robert usually isn't. It’s simply the reality of how his mind and body connect. 

Abraham kneels down in front of him, naked and resting in between his legs like he belongs there. Really, he doesn't. This is Robert’s town, and his house, the one he will inherit. Abraham is only a guest, invited in at Robert’s discretion. Still, he works Robert’s trousers open with steady hands, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

The anticipation is starting to get to Robert as well. They had spent what felt like hours wrapped up in each other, shedding clothes and inhibitions in a gradual build. They had been blessed with rare time, a calm period in between emergencies, and neither are foolish enough to let it pass. Abraham eases his hand along Robert’s skin, taking his time for both of them. It is hard for Robert to go quickly, so Abraham slows himself, handing over that piece with a smile, the way Robert gives him his vulnerability. Give and take. 

So many empty phases have color now, a life of their own, since starting this. 

It seems his body sometimes has a life of it’s own as well, carrying Robert along for the ride. This night, Robert stays as motionless as possible on the bed, only propped up on his elbows, unable to hold himself all the way up. Still sensitive after all. 

“Get- get on with it,” Robert manages, knowing that he will not. As ever, Abraham is a tease, drawing it out. 

He runs his fingers over Robert’s erection lightly before taking him hard in hand, pressing kisses to his inner thighs. Robert complains, but secretly, he thrills in it. Loves the process maybe even more than the end result. Months ago, he couldn’t have done this, couldn’t have kept himself spread out while Abraham touched him. The fact that Abraham can be patient when it counts touches him more deeply than simple physical sensation ever could. That’s the part that’s changing, the thing that alters inside him. Not physical, not at all. 

Finally, Abraham runs his tongue along the vein, from root to tip, then circles around the head before sinking down, as far as he can take. He knows by now to keep Robert’s hips pinned tight, to keep all the control. The hot pressure is divine, and Abraham plays him like he would an instrument. Robert knows he himself has no affinity for the act, and still lacks the practice to overcome the natural challenge, but Abraham seems to delight in it, moaning lowly as he shifts up and down, taking it slow. His hands clench and relax against Robert’s skin in time to rhythm he creates, drawing Robert to the edge and then easing off, pulling off to nose at his balls and rub his face against his shaking thigh. Drawing it out. 

Robert groans, preemptively frustrated. “Not this, what-”

Abraham looks up at him, still between his legs, his mouth red and shiny. “Lay down. We have time.” 

Robert drops down onto it, making it shake. “You don’t know that.”

Careful fingers rub circles into his thighs, and Abraham hums. “That’s what bothers you, isn’t it?”

“You bother me,” Robert huffs, and doesn’t look him in the eye. 

Abraham just shakes his head, his hair brushing against Robert’s skin, and goes down on him again. Robert whines, keeping the sound quiet and far back in his throat, and brings a hand up to his mouth. He wants to be loud, wants to make Abraham know, but he can’t, not even when Abraham brings him to the edge and then refuses to let him go, makes him wait, and wait. 

The third time, Robert is near to his limit, and quickly growing overwhelmed. He’s dropping down from the most recent fevered height, making the sweat and slickness between them more obvious, and more disgusting. Instinctively, he shies away from it, contracting in on himself. But of course, Abraham doesn’t let him feel dirty for long. 

When Robert finishes, Abraham immediately crawls up and onto the bed, his erection dark and heavy between his legs, his face flushed. He’s a complete mess, a wreck of a man for him. Robert holds out his arms to pull him down, skin to skin, the contact intense in the low light, and wonders if they’ll even get as far as they planned when Abraham is clearly so dear for it, rubbing his face against Robert’s shoulder, caught up in the wanting. 

Abraham grabs for him, pulling the last of his clothes all the way off and rooting around for the supplies he had snuck in. Robert watching with building awareness and interest, though he stays prone and relaxed, physically satiated for the time being. Abraham settles back down and reaches between his legs, glancing an exploratory touch to his oversensitive cock and balls, then sliding down lower. Robert sucks in a sharp breath that turns into a whine, and nods when Abraham looks up to meet his eyes. 

The look is familiar, both from direct experience and from knowing him well enough. Robert can see from his hands and mouth how the anticipation builds at the base of Abraham's spine, a burning fever to match Robert’s hot skin. Abraham was the first, quite possibly the last, and his consideration for this shows in the way he touches him. He works hard at it, urging him open in stages, and stroking that electric spot inside him whenever he finds it. Robert’s heart pounds and his color rises again, breathing harder and Abraham increases his pace. 

He'd teased Robert in the past, claiming that he could make Robert come just like this, but has up to this point clearly lacked the patience and self control to give up being inside him, to let one of their few opportunities to feel Robert’s legs wrapped around his hips or have him on his hands and knees as Abraham pressed his chest to his back go. 

“I think-” Abraham swallows dryly. “Does that feel alright?” 

Robert nods, no good for talking when they’re like this. 

That night Abraham has Robert close, face to face, noses almost touching. Robert’s legs keep him within a certain radius of movement and his hands dance along Abraham's back, gripping at slick skin. Closeness undoes a lot of Robert’s venom, helps him to stop thinking so much, but not completely, as evidenced by how he bites at Abraham's lips, and claws at his back when Abraham slows the pace, demanding more, his best. He can tell how much Abraham always tries to give it to him, unyielding in his determination.

Abraham grinds down against him when he thrusts, creating friction. One whines and the other groans. They move together, following an instinct, seeking each other out. When Abraham finishes inside him, the feeling of it trips something primal in Robert’s chest, an instinct. There is heat from all sides, from within. Robert closes his eyes and lets Abraham collapse down onto him, revelling in the feeling of perfect knowledge, for once. 

It feels like more than it is, most of the time. A vow, even though he knows that Abraham takes it less seriously, and his faith would likely disagree. Up until now, his body has belonged only to him. Now he shapes it around Abraham, settling behind him with his arm hooked around his stomach. He has no intention of sharing it further, and no intention of ceasing to share it with Abraham. 

“What is it?” Abraham mutters, half asleep already. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Robert,” Abraham admonishes, peering over his shoulder at him. 

With other people, Robert has learned to play nice. He treats nearly everyone as he would a customer, giving respect when they don’t deserve it, smiling at jokes to clear the way for himself. It had been clear from the start that Abraham is not other people. 

He trails his fingers up bare flesh, watching the reaction carefully. “I don’t understand how you’ve done this with anyone else.”

Abraham blinks, and turns back around. 

“Well,” he says after a particularly long moment of silence. “I happen to like women too.”

It’s not what Robert meant, not at all. But Abraham knew that. In his defense, it had not been a particularly kind thing to say, but at least it was true, and it doesn’t take Abraham long to give him a real answer. 

“I don’t feel like loving other people, physically or not, makes this- makes this worse.” he pauses, his fingers playing with Robert’s arm, tapping out a rhythmic pattern. “I don’t understand why you do, why you doubt me.” 

Robert rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling until he can’t anymore, and falls asleep with Abraham curled at his side. 

***

They make it upstairs and into Robert’s room without further incident. As he closes the door, Robert expects Abraham to throw him against it, try to crawl into his skin. But he only sheds his ridiculous jacket and goes to the window, peering out with fake interest. No doubt making Robert come to him as punishment for ruining his fun under the stairs. 

Robert finds he is too far gone to care, and tosses his own jacket onto the back of the desk chair, for once not in its proper place. He stalks up behind Abe, makes him look before he kisses him. Ever careful, he maneuvers them away from the window, then tugs at Abraham's shirt, untucking it, drawing it up and away. 

“You are a tease,” Robert comments dryly, mostly just to have something to make Abraham crack a smile. “As always.” 

Abraham laughs. “That’s interesting, coming from you.”

Robert jerks back, irrationally offended. “What?”

“How many games of draughts were we going to play, do you think?”

It makes Robert blush, but even more so it makes him ache. Things had been easier then, more like spreading out on the surface of the water than diving deep. Midnight meetings, low stakes. Tension, the unfulfilled ache of looking at each other across the room, never to touch. He doesn’t miss it, except when he does. 

“How?” Robert asks, knowing that he doesn’t have to complete the question. ‘How do you want me’ is too much, too dear for Robert to say, even now. 

As always, Abraham understands. He curls into him, playing with his fingers, running his hands over Robert’s arms. He’s always like this, touching with abandoning once he gets permission, never still. “Well, you could have me,” he mentions, in that overly studied way of his. 

At first, Robert’s amusement over his falsely casual tone completely distracts him from what he had actually said. Doesn’t he know that Robert always see through him? But then it sinks in, and with it, the heat sinks into his bones. They’ve never done it that way, and somehow it never even occurred to Robert to ask. 

In lieu of answering, Robert kisses him, pushes him back step by step, tugging at his clothes as he moves him. He forgets, sometimes, that he’s the larger man. Abraham goes easily, pulling Robert down by the shoulders, all eagerness and electricity coming through at the fingertips. The backs of his knees hit the bed and he drops, immediately setting about removing his shoes and trousers. Robert takes the opportunity to do the same, giving into the logistical concerns for a moment before they come together again, Robert crawling on top, spreading Abraham out underneath. 

They’d been in this position before, with Robert nestled between Abraham’s legs, but it takes on a new, charged meaning, heavy with implication. Robert feels dizzy with the possibility as he rocks his hips into Abraham’s, going slow, making him tip his head back and groan. It’s engaging in a terrifying sort of way. There’s no strategy for this now, no boneless heat for Robert to relax into, and he feels extra sharp, hyperaware. 

Hands and knees is easiest, Robert remembers as they scramble up, old memories overlapping with the current realities of switching positions, digging through drawers. He prepares Abraham with a detachment he doesn't feel, his heart pounding in his chest with every breath Abraham takes under him. He's hot, and alive, and the feel of him around Robert’s fingers alone makes his head spin. 

When he slides in, he almost finishes right away, but fights it back with raw determination and a tight ring around the base of his cock made with his fingers. He’s not quite new at this, not anymore, or he never would have lasted a second. The first time Abraham touched him had finished him, weakened him in the knees, his face in Abraham’s neck as he spilled into his hand. 

For his part, Abraham is shaking. 

“Are you alright?” Robert manages to ask through the thick fog of arousal, more pinched and desperate then he can remember being in a long time. It’s inherently different from the sex he’s used to, the urge to move like a pulsing force separate from himself, writhing under his skin. 

Abraham nods, the muscles in his shoulders bunched tight, and Robert abruptly realizes that he'd never done this before. Robert narrows his eyes, and tightens the grip of his hands on Abraham’s hips. “So much for experience. I thought it was best to first receive?”

Abraham laughs, a little nervously, and pushes back against him. “Are we really going to fight right now?”

Robert runs his fingers along Abraham's sides. “Of course not.” 

He starts to move, careful of him despite his harsh words, especially now. Being on the receiving end first really did help, both in terms of care and knowledge of the feeling, of what feels good in that primal way. He works them both up to it, newly impressed with the responsibility of this, the pressure. He tends to put a lot of pressure on Abraham, he knows, though he almost always rises to it. 

When Abraham gasps, a sharp, startled sound that turns into a low moan, Robert freezes, careful not to shift away from the spot. Then he starts to take Abraham in earnest, hard as he can, demanding. He is dizzy with want. Abraham arches his back, and it makes Robert’s mouth go dry. 

Abraham reaches between his legs, unbalancing himself and therefore Robert, so Robert puts a hand between his shoulder blades and pushes him down onto his shoulders, stabilizing him. Abraham makes a choked sound, helpless and wanting, so Robert leaves his hand there, the other gripping his hips tightly, giving him as much leverage as possible. After a while though, it's too much, not enough, and Robert lets him go to use both hands to better keep him still. Abraham stays down, on his face and shoulders, his arms bent in front of him. 

The sight sets off a primal satisfaction in his chest. Robert shifts, angling Abraham forward, himself back a bit, shifting his knees apart and pushing Abraham's legs a bit wider with him. Then he focuses on the feeling, the sensation and power of it all. Abraham stays trusting underneath him, gripping at the sheets instead of himself, held still under Robert's hands. 

Within seconds, Robert’s rhythm breaks down, and he comes inside him. He gasps, then stares, part brain dead and part fascinated, as it happens, still rocking in and out through the aftershocks. 

“I- good lord.”

Abraham shuffles up to his elbows and cranes his head back, looking absolutely wrecked. “Lay down.”

Robert does as he's told, sliding out with a wince and letting himself drop to the side. Abraham rolls with him, settling his back against Robert’s chest. On instinct, and in spite of the fact that they both reek of sweat and sex, Robert wraps an arm around him, pulling him against his chest. It’s a strong urge, the pull to be close, even more so than the one he feels after being on the receiving end. His head hums with feeling and the pleasant drain that come from the release. Abraham pushes back against him, a whine in the back of his throat. 

Something about the way he's breathing and holding himself works it's way through Robert’s sex dulled haze. With narrowed eyes, Robert slides his hand down from Abraham's chest to his cock, feeling it still hard. As soon as he makes contact, Abraham sucks in a breath and presses back, his shoulder blades digging into Robert’s chest.

“Robert,” Abraham breathes, still quiet, still good. 

Idiot, you forgot your partner, Robert thinks, momentarily ashamed. He makes up for it by dragging his teeth along the back of Abraham's neck, and pumping him with deep, efficient movements. 

“What do you want?” Robert asks, dropping his voice low right behind Abraham's ear, trying to draw a shiver out of him by force. 

Abraham shudders, and Robert feels it in his own bones. “God, anything. You're so good.” 

Robert ducks his head, grateful that Abraham can't see him blush and a little surprised he still has enough blood that far up to do it. He grips Abraham more tightly, intending to drive him hard, a copy of what Robert had just felt with him. Punishing fast, impossibly right. But Abraham grabs at his hand. 

“Slower?” 

Robert could roll his eyes. “You said anything.” 

“Robert, please.” 

It sends a jolt of phantom arousal through him that he doesn't have the energy to interrogate. 

Instead he loosens his hold, drawing his hand up slowly, seeking instead to tantalize, to draw it out the way he asked for. Abraham sighs, pushing back against him, as though trying to fuse them together. Robert shifts his leg up to partially wedge between Abraham's thighs, tangling them together further. The bed creaks, the sound clear in the otherwise quiet space. Abraham whines, then groans, making no effort to control himself, giving all the control over to Robert. 

It's an odd sort of trust, but one he now recognizes, and refuses to let go of. Abraham is a fool to think he can just walk away from this, that he can simply change the plans and not take Robert with him, but then he had difficulty thinking things through under stress. Robert leans down to press a kiss to the back of Abraham's neck as he dips his hand down further, taking his balls in hand to gently roll them. 

Abraham moans, shaking all over now. When he comes it's a surprise to both of them, gasping and going stock still as he spills all over Robert’s hand. He slumps back against Robert’s chest, pushing him over slightly. Robert rolls onto his back, pulling Abraham with him, an arm still caught around his chest. He doesn’t feel bad about wiping his hand on his sheets, they’ll need to be changed anyway, nearly soaked through in places. Normally, Abraham would make a comment, smirking and trying to get Robert to smile back. Tonight he doesn’t. 

They breathe together in the grey-light darkness of the room, uninterrupted by artificial street lamps. Robert feels the sweat and semen on their skin, cooling in the air. There is a basin of water on the far table. He picks at Abraham’s fingers, and sighs. 

“We need to talk.” 

Abraham groans, probably too loudly, and rolls over, turning his face into the pillow. Robert props himself up on an elbow to watch him, disdain warring with affection, a familiar cocktail when it comes to the walking enigma he’d allowed himself to be tied to. Abraham finishes his tantrum in short order, rolling onto his back to frown up at Robert in mock offense. 

“You couldn’t wait ten minutes?” 

“We have less than a few hours until you need to be back, and much to discuss.” 

Abraham’s lip quirk. “Not now.” 

Robert blinks, then smirks. “Yes, now.” 

It would be easy to leave it at that, to lay back down and curl into him, fall asleep. Easy, and foolish. There is a reason Robert is no romantic. 

“Concerning Simcoe,” Robert drawls, making the contempt he feels evident. “There is no plan for getting out, is there?” 

Abraham is carefully still. “Not yet, but-”

“But nothing. The plan is not to get out.” When Abraham doesn’t respond, Robert sighs and lays back down. “What makes you think you’re allowed to do that?” 

“It’s my life.” 

“Not just yours, not anymore. You have the ring, and a son, and a wife-” 

“And a Robert?” 

Robert whips his head around to glare, and means it. “Do not make fun of me in this.” 

“Sorry,” Abraham says, at a near whisper, face still turned towards the ceiling. Robert doesn’t mind, it gives him plenty of space to study him, to ferret out his secrets. 

“A plan can be made. You’re not alone, Abraham. Don’t act like it.” 

At that, Abraham glances over at him, his expression blankly serious, putting on no mask as all. They don’t name each other often, and Robert even less so. Abraham, who has been his but is still not something he can be sure of. 

He had known it before of course, but the knowing had been in terms of circumstances constantly shifting under their feet. The risk of being caught, the strain of being estranged and separated for increasingly long periods of time. Still, it never occurred to him that Abraham would change, that Robert would need to change with him. A stupid mistake, but fixable, if Abraham will let him try. 

Robert eases closer, insinuating himself into his space. “Meet me again, tomorrow night. We’ll come up with something.” 

Abraham watches him warily, as though Robert is a wild animal getting a little too close. “The school?” 

Robert nods, paying close attention. I used to be just like you, he thinks, a little dizzy even though they’re laying down. It doesn’t sicken him so much as frighten him. He had not reacted well the first time, when Abraham tried to get close. Somehow, in the midst of the panic and injustice of the war, their positions had been reversed. But he needs Abraham not to falter now. 

Careful breaths between them, quiet non-movements, halfway reaching for each other and settling for tangled legs. 

Eventually, finally, Abraham lets out a long breath. “Alright, Robert. Alright.” 

“Thank you,” Robert leans forward, touches his hair, his face. “Abraham.”

**Author's Note:**

> Peter 4:8 - Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. 
> 
> ***
> 
> I was writing some other Townhull fics and most of them are in the pre-relationship stage because that's where they're at in the show. Writing first kisses and first times is fun, but then I got to wondering what they would actually be life if they'd been together for a while. Like, yes they have a lot of innate passion, but what is it like for Robert to plan to have sex? To have sex multiple times? Now here we are. 
> 
> follow me at paradiamond.tumblr.com for more nonsense~


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